


Fated to Destroy

by FrankenSpine



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Blood and Violence, Brutal Murder, Captain Swan - Freeform, Character Death, Cheating, Child Loss, Christianity, Dubious Morality, Eventual Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Human Sacrifice, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Motherhood, Multi, Nuns, Old Norse, One-Sided Attraction, Partner Betrayal, Sacrifice, Shieldmaidens, Slavery, Swordfighting, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-05-14 13:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19274668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankenSpine/pseuds/FrankenSpine
Summary: Based loosely on the show 'Vikings.'Emma lives in a quiet village in Norway with her beloved husband, Killian. Both dream of sailing the world in search of great treasure, but when that dream becomes a reality, Emma is forced to stay behind once she realizes she is pregnant, and suddenly, her entire world is turned on its head.*Warning: this starts out somewhat lighthearted but gets dark REAL quick*





	1. Blessed

**Author's Note:**

> My first Captain Swan fic. 
> 
> Just so you know, 'Dagvid' is the Norwegian form of David, and not a typo. Also, Oðinn is actually pronounced Othin (hard 'th,' like in 'the'), *not* 'Odin.'
> 
> Also: yes, I know I usually write SQ, but no, this is NOT a SwanQueen fic. Emma and Regina will have a complicated friendship, but their relationship won't be anything sexual or romantic, as this is based on the bond between Ragnar and Athelstan from 'Vikings.'

For as long as she could remember, Emma had dreamed of getting on a ship and sailing the seas in search of whatever great treasures awaited her in the vast regions of the unknown world. She would be forever grateful that her husband, Killian, shared her dream. While she hardly ever left the village, Killian had sailed many a time with the men of the town. It was always east, per order of the Earl. But Killian did not want to go east. Not anymore. No. He desired to sail _west._

Emma was just as eager to share in her husband’s ambition. She wanted to feel the wind in her golden hair and the saltwater on her fair skin. Moreover, she wanted to hear the clash of blades and axes ringing in her ears, and feel the warm blood of her enemies paint her flesh. It was what she lived for, as a shield maiden. She was a strong and beautiful woman, which was precisely why Killian had chosen to marry her. Of course, he’d had to first earn her father’s approval.

He did so by defeating a wolf with his bare hands, the left of which he had lost to the beast’s mighty fangs. In the end, however, he was victorious. It was for this reason that Killian was given the title, _‘The Left-Handed.’_

Many, Emma’s father included, compared his victory against the beast to the story of Tyr, the one-handed god whose hand was severed by the fangs of the great wolf, Fenrir. For this reason, Killian earned the respect of Emma’s father, Dagvid, but most importantly, he won the heart of his True Love.

Whenever Killian left the house, he sported an iron gauntlet, but once he was inside, he always set it down and massaged the stump where his hand should have been. Some days he missed his hand, but other times, he reminded himself that it was worth it. For Emma, he would have sacrificed far more.

“Killian,” came the sweet voice of his beloved, “I have made stew and fresh bread.”

Killian smiled, kissing her soft lips. “How wonderful you are,” he told her, “and how lucky I am to have you. None can prepare a meal the way you do, my love.”

Emma was quick to return his smile. “Oh, Killian,” she murmured, “Flattery will get you _everywhere.”_

The two of them enjoyed a savory meal of warm stew, fresh bread, and honey mead, which they drank from curved horns. After they filled their bellies, the two fell into bed together, laughing as they all but tore each other’s clothes off. They made love that night, as they did most nights, desperate to start a family. Alas, despite the three years they’d been married, they had yet to succeed.

After they’d had their fun, they settled down to rest, and as always, Killian held Emma close to him.

She closed her eyes and let out a quiet sigh. “Killian?”

“Yes, love?”

“Sometimes I fear I may be cursed,” the blonde confessed.

Killian was quiet for a moment. “What makes you say that?”

“My womb does not sustain your seed. I— I am afraid that I may be doomed to spend my days as a barren woman, cursed to live a life without children,” Emma rasped. Tears welled in her sea-green eyes. “The thought alone petrifies me. I want nothing more than to start a family with you, but if I cannot do that, then what good am I as a wife?”

Killian caressed her cheek gently. “Look at me,” he murmured, “You are the perfect wife, which is why I am such a lucky man. We will have children someday. I promise. We just need to keep trying. It is not always so easy to conceive. Perhaps the problem lies not with your womb, but with my seed. You fear that you may not be a good wife, yet I, too, fear that I may be a poor husband.”

“Nonsense,” said Emma, “You are the greatest husband a woman could ask for. You fought a wolf for me, and you earned my father’s respect. No man has done either, though I am certain the latter is a far greater challenge, and still, you were successful at both. You are a wonderful husband, and I have no doubt that you will make an even greater father.”

A smile spread across her husband’s bearded face. “What would I ever do without you?” he murmured.

“Probably starve,” Emma quipped.

The two shared a laugh before their lips met in a searing kiss, and they each slept peacefully that night, comforted by the sounds of the sea and the light of the stars. As he often did, Killian dreamt that he was the mighty Tyr, losing his hand to the jagged maw of Fenrir. It was never a dreadful vision, but rather, a blessing, for it was his sacrifice that won him Emma’s heart. If he had to do it all again, he wouldn’t hesitate.

As for Emma, she was enjoying visions of the warm sun on her skin as she and Killian sailed across the salty sea, surrounded by gold, jewels, and endless treasures from the villages they had plundered.

* * *

 

Dawn came, and Emma awoke to find herself alone in bed. She looked around for her husband, but it seemed he had already left. She quickly got dressed, forgoing breakfast (at least for the time being) and heading outside to look for her beloved.

“Killian?” she called.

He did not answer. Instead, it was their neighbor, Anna, who responded. “He left with Kristoff,” said the redhead.

“Which way did they go?”

“Down to the harbor,” said Anna.

Emma nodded. “Thank you, Anna.”

“Any time,” the redhead told her with a smile.

Emma headed towards the harbor, where she found Killian speaking with Anna’s husband, Kristoff, the boat-builder. Killian noticed her approaching and offered a bright smile as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Good morning, love,” he greeted, “Apologies for leaving without telling you. You just looked so peaceful, and I did not wish to wake you.”

Emma smiled as they shared a sweet kiss. “You can make it up to me later,” she husked, “As for now, what are you up to?”

Killian’s smile only widened. “Kristoff and I are building a ship,” he explained, “The Earl will not allow us to use his boats to go west, so we will make our own.”

“And are you certain this will work?”

Killian nodded. “With the blessing of the Gods, we shall be invincible.”

“How many men are you taking?” asked Emma.

“As of now, just eight.”

Emma hooked her arms around his neck, kissing him once more. “Why not make it _nine,_ so that you may appease the Gods?”

“You wish to join us?”

“You know I do,” said Emma, “It is all I have ever dreamed of.”

“Then I look forward to having you by my side.”

“As I look forward to exploring this strange new world, and what treasures we may find there.”

* * *

 

Alas, it was not meant to be. Just three days later, Emma began to grow ill. Fearing for her health, Killian summoned the village healer, who determined that the blonde was experiencing morning sickness. She was pregnant. Hearing this news brought tears to the young couple’s eyes.

“We are going to have a child,” Emma rasped, “Our prayers have been answered.”

“At long last,” murmured Killian. He took hold of her hand, giving it a light squeeze. There was remorse in his eyes, which Emma noticed almost immediately.

“Killian? What is wrong? Are you not pleased?”

“Of course I am,” he assured her, “I look forward to being a father.”

“Then what troubles you?”

Killian squeezed his wife’s hand a bit tighter. “If you are with child, then I am afraid I cannot allow you to sail west.”

Emma’s eyes nearly burst from her skull. _“What?!”_ she cried, “You promised you would take me with you!”

“I know! I am sorry, my love, but we cannot risk the life of our child. Surely you understand. You _must,_ Emma. I swear to you, once the child is born and you are in good health, we will sail west. Just you and I, together.”

Tears welled in Emma’s eyes. “Killian, please,” she begged, “I will not allow anything to happen to me or our child, but I— I have to come with you! I fear I may never get another chance!”

Killian cupped her face gently. “Emma, look at me,” he rasped, “You have the rest of your life to sail with me. Just not right now, but I promise you that one day, we shall go west.”

“Swear it upon your arm ring,” Emma told him, “Swear it in the name of the Gods.”

Killian just nodded and pulled back his sleeve, revealing the silver ring on his arm. He placed his hand over it and stared deep into his wife’s tearful eyes. “I swear to you, oh mighty Oðinn, that I shall honor my wife’s wishes and one day take her with me to the mysterious western world, so that we may explore and plunder whatever lands we come across.”

He kissed his beloved wife, and all was well.

* * *

 

As luck would have it, Killian and his crew left the harbor just nine days later, with nine men in total. The ninth crew-member should have been Emma, but instead, it was a mere acquaintance of her husband’s, a man named Jurgen. Emma was furious, though she kept trying to calm herself down, assuring herself that Killian wouldn’t dare break the promise he’d made upon his arm ring. However, if he did, it would not be the wrath of the Gods he would have to worry about, but instead, the wrath of his pregnant wife. The latter was easily more terrifying.

_“If you break your promise,” she’d murmured, ever so sweetly, “I will tear away your manhood with my bare hands, and then we shall both be women. That, I swear.”_

_And as the color drained from her husband’s face, he had just smiled at her as if nothing was even remotely out of the ordinary. “Take care, my beloved shield maiden,” he’d told her, “I will see you again soon, and I shall bring you many great treasures.”_

_Emma had just beamed at him. “I look forward to your return.”_

That was the morning he and his crew departed for the western world, leaving his wife alone in their quaint little home near the harbor. She tended to the garden and the livestock, and went to the river each morning to fetch water, which she carried home in a heavy bucket.

Just two days after Killian left, a pair of men approached the house while Emma was boiling a pot of water over a fire. She planned to use it for her bath. She studied the two men with a slight frown as they stepped into her home.

“Your husband has gone away,” one of them said ominously.

“Now you are here all alone,” said the other, “with no one to protect you.”

Emma stood her ground. “If you are hungry, I will give you something to eat. If you are thirsty, then I will give you water,” she told the men, “but otherwise, you must go.”

The two men laughed darkly, and Emma grabbed an iron rod from the rack near the fire. The intruders became furious when they saw this and attempted to come at her, one with his sword and the other with an axe, but Emma drove the sharp rode into the swordsman’s shoulder, causing him to scream in pain and drop his blade.

The man with the axe let out a cry of rage, charging at the blonde, only to have scalding water flung into his face. His anger turned to agony and he, too, dropped his weapon, clutching at his burning face as he staggered blindly out the door. His friend followed close behind, bleeding profusely.

Emma just watched them go with a heavy sigh. “It seems I need to fetch more water,” she muttered, “and perhaps I should purchase a hound to keep me company.” She placed a hand over her stomach ever so gently. “What do you think, little one?”

She went about her day as if nothing had happened. She cleaned the sharp iron rod and hung it back up on the rack, alongside the new sword and axe she’d procured for her husband. She was sure he would appreciate them, and he would be proud that she had defended herself against the two intruders. At the same time, however, she knew he would be worried sick about her and their child’s safety.

She went to get more water from the well, this time carrying her newly-acquired weapons from either side of her belt, and once again, she poured it into a pot and boiled it over the fire. After that, she dumped the steaming water into a large tub to cool down a bit while she went out and milked the cow, Dagmar— _maid of the day—_ and then, she headed back inside to make butter and cheese.

Despite her deep desire to sail the world with her husband, she did not mind taking care of the chores and looking after the farm. She was still strong. It was her love for her husband and her dream of being a mother that drove her above all else. Killian was never one to make her feel lesser because she was a woman. He cherished her and loved her with all his heart, and would do anything to keep her safe. That much, she knew.

Emma possessed a distinct feminine beauty and grace, both of which she used to her advantage, but at the same time, she had a tendency to be hostile if threatened, as seen with the two intruders. It was for this reason that she was known throughout the village as _Emma Svanr,_ as her nature was that of a swan— beautiful yet dangerous all at once.

As the days passed, Emma began to feel at ease with Killian’s decision to go without her. He was right, she realized. She needed to stay behind and look after their home and the farm, and there was a strong chance that her pregnancy would be disrupted if she were to go into battle. She prayed each morning as she rose, and again when she settled into bed for the night, that her husband would return home safely, with or without treasures. She cared not if he came back to her empty-handed. She only wanted _him._

On the third night of Killian’s absence, Emma climbed into bed and stared longingly out the window into the starry sky. _“Bring him back to me,”_ she murmured, _“Please.”_


	2. The Abbey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning: implied rape.

Just when Killian and his men began to fear they would never reach land, they heard seagulls, and they began to rejoice as their beautiful ship met the shoreline, at long last. It had been a rough few days out on the sea, but they were all here. They were all alive. They had won the favor of the Gods.

Killian’s only regret was that his wife was not here with him. Had she not been with child, he’d have brought her along in a heartbeat, but he was not about to put her at risk— not when they were finally going to get what they’d always wanted.

As the nine of them all climbed out of the boat with its fearsome dragon head, hand-carved by Kristoff, they began striking their axes against their shields as they made their way up the hill. They paused when they spotted some sort of temple in the distance. They grinned at one another rather wickedly.

“Come,” said Killian, “Let us see what treasures await.”

As the men trekked towards the temple, their presence went unnoticed by the unsuspecting nuns in the abbey. That is, until one of the nuns noticed them while passing an open window. She gasped, rushing into the nearest room, where the other nuns were in prayer.

“Sisters!” she cried.

“What is the meaning of this, Astrid?” demanded the Abbess, “Why do you disrupt our prayer?”

“Apologies, Abbess, but there are men approaching! They carry weapons!”

The Abbess’ eyes widened as she rushed over to the window, looking on in horror as the strange men grew closer and closer. “Gather everyone up, quickly! We must hide!”

The nuns all scrambled to hide themselves as best as they could. Soon, the strange men began busting down the wooden gates of the abbey with their axes and their brute strength. They looked around, puzzled, when they found the place seemingly-abandoned.

“Spread out,” said Killian, “That way, we may cover more ground.” He looked to Kristoff. “You. Come with me.”

Kristoff gave a curt nod. “Right.”

Killian and Kristoff made their way through the strange stone temple. As they passed by a door, Killian paused suddenly. He exchanged a suspicious look with his friend and swiftly drove his axe into the door, which resulted in a number of screams from behind it. He kicked open the door and found himself staring into the horrified faces of women in strange garb. He eyed them curiously.

“What is the name of this land?” he asked them. The women just stared at him, not saying a word. He sighed. “They must not know our language.”

“What will we do with them?” asked Kristoff, “Do you wish for us to kill them?”

“Only if they resist,” said Killian, “Otherwise, just bind them. We can bring them back with us as slaves.”

“Of course.”

Jurgen and his brother Hans approached the pair. “Have you found treasure?”

“Just some women,” said Killian, “Bind their hands so that we may bring them back to the ship.”

“I like the way you think,” said Jurgen, “May we have a bit of fun while we are here?”

“Of course,” said Killian, “Do what you wish.”

Jurgen laughed. “Wonderful.”

“I am going to search for treasure,” said Killian.

“What do we do if they try to run?” asked Hans.

“Kill them.”

Killian went to look around on his own, and he kicked open a large wooden door, where he found a room full of gold, shimmering beautifully in the sun. As he stared at the riches, he was reminded only of his beloved wife, and he started to smile, but then he heard something and quickly turned to find someone cowering behind a table. He frowned and approached the table, throwing it aside and finding a petrified woman crouching down against the wall. She wore the same garb as the other women.

“Please, have mercy!” cried the woman, “Do not kill me!”

Killian was taken aback. “You speak our language.” It was not a question. “How is that?”

“I— I have traveled to many different lands,” the woman said fearfully, “and learned many a language.” She was in tears. “Please, spare me. Do what you will with me, but do not kill me, I beg of you.”

Killian was quiet for a moment. “What is your name?”

“R-Regina.”

“You are quite beautiful, _Regina,”_ said Killian, “Not nearly as beautiful as my wife, but beautiful, nonetheless. Stand up. You are coming with me.”

He grabbed the terrified young woman’s arm and pulled her up roughly, glaring at her, but his expression turned to one of confusion when he noticed the leather-bound book in her hands. He swiped it from her, and she became hysterical.

“Please, no! It is all I have!”

Killian frowned, glancing between her and the book in bewilderment. “This?” he asked, “Out of all these treasures, you chose to protect _this?_ Why?”

“It— It is the word of God,” said Regina.

“Which God?”

Now Regina was just as confused. _“Which God?”_ she asked, “There is but one.”

At this, Killian began to laugh, shoving the book back into the woman’s trembling hands, and then he outright scoffed at her. “One God? How can there be only _one?_ Whoever he is, he is a false idol.” He looked to the wooden figure of a man nailed to a cross that hung on the wall. “Is this your God?” he asked, not waiting for a response, “He appears to be dead. So what good is he, then? Hm? He is not alive like the mighty Thor, or the wise Oðinn.”

Regina was too terrified to speak, but thankfully, the man paid this no mind. Alas, her relief was short-lived, for another one of the raiders came into the room to inspect the treasure.

“Have you a new slave, Killian?” asked Kristoff.

A smile tugged at the dark-haired man’s lips. “Aye,” he said, “but not for me. For my wife. She is with child, and I am certain she could use the help whenever I am away.”

“How sweet of you,” Kristoff teased, “but in all seriousness, I am happy for you, my friend. It seems the Gods have finally answered your prayers.”

“That they have,” said Killian, “Let us gather up this treasure.”

“Why would they leave such things unprotected?” asked Kristoff, “It is as though they are asking to be raided.”

“Yes, I was wondering that myself.” Killian looked to Regina expectantly. “Why is that?”

“B-Because there has never been any need to protect it,” said the frightened young woman, “It was all sent here by the faithful, hoping that it would be enough to save their souls.”

Killian seemed confused, but intrigued. “And what are their souls?” he asked her.

Regina just stared at him in horror, unable to find words. Seeing the fear in her eyes seemed to amuse the man, as his grin widened. He looked absolutely mad.

* * *

 

Once they were back aboard the ship, Killian and the rest of his men made room for their new slaves. There were only a dozen slaves, all women. The rest had been killed while trying to escape, but not a single one of them had fought back. Regina was in tears, bound to the mast of the ship alongside her good friend Astrid, who had alerted the Abbess to the presence of the invaders.

“Tell me, slave,” said Killian, “do any of your little friends know our language?”

Regina shook her head. “No,” she said quietly, “Just me.”

“Pity,” said the dark-haired man. He knelt down before her, looking her dead in the face. “My name is Killian,” he said, “Killian the Left-Handed.”

“W-Why do they call you that?” asked Regina.

Killian held up the polished gauntlet and slowly removed it, revealing the stump where his hand should have been. “This is why,” he told her, “I lost my hand to the jaws of a vicious wolf. At first, people called me _the Left-Handed_ as a joke, just to try and degrade me, but I now bear that title like a badge of honor, and I will earn the respect I deserve once I return to my village with this glorious treasure, and the slaves that my men and I have procured.” He grinned. “And of course, I will have a gift for my wife.”

“You— You mean me, do you not?” Regina rasped.

Killian nodded. “I do.”

He put the gauntlet back on, making sure it was secure, and stood back up. He studied the temple one last time before he turned and looked out towards the horizon. His features softened into a faint smile.

 _“See you soon, my love,”_ he murmured.

* * *

 

After what seemed like an eternity, Killian and his crew returned to the village and began hauling their treasures up onto the shore, along with the few remaining slaves. Several of the women had died, including the one called Astrid, and the raiders tossed their bodies into the sea with little regard. As far as the men were concerned, they were just making extra room on the ship.

“We must divide everything up evenly,” said Killian, “That way it will be fair.”

“Right,” said Kristoff.

The men split up the treasure they’d found between the nine of them, and all were satisfied. Killian grabbed Regina by the rope around her neck and led her through the village like a farm animal. The villagers whispered and stared in confusion and curiosity as the nine men ushered the women in the strange robes into the square.

Kristoff followed after Killian with a small wooden chest containing gold and jewels, which he took home to his wife. “Anna,” he called, “Come and see what all I have brought you!” He was overjoyed to see the look of wonder that masked her beautiful face at the sight of the riches.

Meanwhile, Killian was making his way towards his own house, holding the rope in his hand while he had a satchel full of treasure strapped across his shoulder. Regina was looking around in fear and uncertainty. This place was beautiful, and yet, it was home to the most ruthless heathens she had ever encountered.

_“Killian?”_

The frightened nun looked up when she heard that angelic voice, and she found a blonde woman standing in the open doorway, tearful as Killian approached. This must have been the man’s wife, whom he had spoken so fondly about. Regina found the woman absolutely breathtaking. How could such a beautiful woman be married to a bloodthirsty beast who knew not what a soul was?

“Emma, my love,” said Killian, “I come bearing gifts.” He tugged at the rope, almost choking the nun. “This is one of the women from the temple. Her name is Regina. She is the only one who speaks our language. I feel she will make a decent slave.”

Emma was visibly intrigued. “Yes,” she said, “I believe you are right.” Her soft green eyes fell onto the satchel. “And what have you in your bag?”

Killian grinned as he stepped inside, bringing Regina in with him. “Gold,” he said, “Pure gold, just like your hair, my beautiful.” He and his wife shared a sweet kiss. “By the Gods, how I have missed you.”

“And I you,” murmured Emma.

Killian turned to Regina, gesturing to the blonde beside him. “This is my wife, Emma,” he said, “You are to treat her with respect, and obey her every command, without question. Do you understand?”

Regina was clearly unnerved by his tone. “I— I understand,” she said fearfully.

“Killian, please, she must be terrified. The poor thing,” said Emma, “Get that rope off of her neck.”

Killian did as she said and retrieved his dagger, cutting the rope from the nun’s wrists, as well. “There,” he said.

“I say we get her out of those ridiculous robes,” said Emma, “She needs something a bit more _comfortable.”_ She went to the wooden chest where she kept some of her old clothing and handed them to the nun. “Here. Put these on. I need to speak to my husband— _alone.”_

As Regina reluctantly obeyed, Emma and Killian went outside to talk by the fence. Emma did not look all that pleased with him.

“What were you _thinking?”_

Killian was visibly taken aback by this. “What? Do you not like your gift?”

“I have no need for a slave, Killian!”

“But you will eventually,” said Killian, “If you decide you do not like her, we can always sell her. I am certain she will be worth a fair amount. Just look at her. She is beautiful, and appears to be in perfect health.”

Emma’s eye twitched. “Beautiful?” she hissed, clearly envious, “You find her _beautiful?_ Have you lain with her, Killian?”

Killian was quick to bright a hand to his wife’s shoulder. “I promise, I have done no such thing,” he assured, “I would never— _could never—_ do that to you, my love. You are the only one I want. Yes, I admit, the slave girl is rather beautiful, but none are as beautiful as you, _Emma Svanr.”_

Emma just stared into his eyes for a moment before letting out a sigh of relief. “Apologies for snapping at you,” she said, “I have just been so lonely and bitter. It seems my mood has been drastically shifting from one extreme to the other. Forgive me if my jealousy seems out of line.”

Killian smiled as he kissed her. “It is alright, love. You have nothing to apologize for. It is I who owes you an apology,” he said, “I am sorry I made you feel so alone, but as promised, once you are in good health after the child is born, I will bring you sailing with me.”

“And what about the baby?”

“We will worry about that when the time comes,” said Killian.

Again, they shared a loving kiss, oblivious to the fact that Regina was watching them from within the house.

“Killian,” Emma rasped, “there is something I must tell you.”

“What is it, love?”

“Two days after you left, a pair of men showed up. They tried to attack me, but as you can see, I had the upper-hand.”

Killian’s eyes nearly burst from his skull. _“What?!_ Who were they?! Were you hurt?!”

“I was not hurt,” said Emma, “but I did not recognize them.”

“What did they look like?”

“One of them had a stubbled face. He was young. Not quite a man, but not a boy, either. His skin was white like fresh cream, and he had short, dark hair. I stabbed him with the rod near the mantel.”

“And the other?”

“He was short and a bit stout. His hair was long and dark, and he had a beard. I threw boiling water in his face. They disappeared, and I have had no trouble since.”

Killian let out a sigh of relief. “I am glad you are safe,” he said quietly, “I know not what I would do if I lost you, my love.”

“You could always find another woman.”

“No,” Killian said firmly, unshed tears in his eyes, “You are the only one for me. You, Emma, are irreplaceable.”

Emma smiled. “As are you, my sweet Killian.” She hooked her arms around his neck and slammed her lips against his in a searing kiss. “Come,” she murmured, “You have arrived just in time for supper.”

Killian grinned, for he knew that he was the luckiest man in the Nine Realms.

* * *

 

Regina was resting on the wolf skin rug before the fireplace, staring at the sacred book in her hands as she wept silently. She donned the blue tunic and dress which Emma had provided her, but she could not go so far as to deem the action _generous,_ as the blonde— however beautiful— had tossed her robes into the crackling fire without care.

She was pulled from her troubled thoughts when she heard Emma and Killian laughing joyfully within their bedroom, and her eyes grew wide when she saw the couple rush out of the room, unabashedly in the raw. Regina swiftly averted her gaze, which the pair seemed to find most amusing.

“Why do you turn away?” asked Emma.

“I swore a vow of celibacy when I became a nun,” Regina told her, “I cannot give into lust, for it is sin.”

The blonde frowned in confusion. _“Sin?_ What is that?”

“An evil act,” said the nun, “One that defies the will of God.”

“Which God?”

“She says there is but one,” said Killian. Both he and Emma shared a laugh. “Can you imagine? Just one God, ruling the Nine Realms all on his own. Impossible!”

Emma knelt down next to the woman and placed a hand upon her shoulder. “Come and join us. You no longer have to answer to your lonely God. You may answer to ours— and they care not if you give into lust. On the contrary, it is encouraged. What is so wrong with desire? Without it, sex would not be _nearly_ as fun. What say you? Hm? Would you like to join us?”

Regina stared at the blonde in horror. “J-Join you? And lie with a woman? Whilst she is married?”

Emma laughed. “I assume that, too, is a ‘sin?’”

“Most definitely,” said Regina, “Marriage is between man and woman, and adultery is an insult to the Almighty.”

Again, the blonde laughed. “This God of yours is awfully strict,” she said, “Is there anything you _can_ do?”

Regina had no chance to respond, for Killian beat her to it.

“She is just nervous,” said the man, “You are a maiden, are you not?”

“I— yes,” said Regina, “I am.”

Emma seemed impressed by this. “A maiden, you say? Well, why not live a little? Why not enjoy life, and the fruits it has to offer? You will be much happier, I assure you.”

“Do I have a choice?” Regina asked with tears in her eyes, “I am a slave after all.”

“True,” said Emma, “but if you would like to join us, we could make you feel like a Queen for a night.” She extended her hand to the young woman. “What say you, _Regina?”_

The nun hesitated. “I,” she paused, “I cannot.” She hung her head in shame.

Emma huffed, standing back up and hooking and arm around her husband. “Suit yourself,” she said, “Just know that the offer still stands. If you wish to lie with us, then you may do so.”

“Is your marriage not sufficient enough? Why must you invite another into your marital bed?”

Emma frowned. “Mind your tongue, slave!” she snapped, “Lest you wish to see it cut from that pretty mouth of yours. Our marriage is perfect, but there is nothing wrong with having a bit of fun every now and again. You might understand that, if only you were not a _maiden.”_

“Apologies,” Regina rasped, “I did not mean to offend.”

Emma scoffed. “Have fun with your sad little God.”

She and Killian darted back into the room, slamming the door behind them and laughing as they all but dove onto the bed, fighting for dominance beneath the warm animal pelts until Emma was straddling her husband.

All the while, Regina was in the next room with her ankle shackled to the wall with a heavy chain, and her bible clutched in her hands. She removed her veil, though with great reluctance, exposing her shaved head. She rolled up her veil and set it down gently, then she lied her head onto it like a makeshift pillow and closed her eyes. Tears streaked her cheeks as she clutched the holy book to her chest.

 _“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name,”_ she sobbed.

Her prayer went unheard by the young couple in the next room as they grunted and groaned like a pair of wild beasts. She just pursed her lips and tried to cover her ears as best as she could, curling up into a fetal position.

* * *

 

She couldn’t remember falling asleep, but when Regina awoke, it was to the sound of rain pattering against the roof. She opened her eyes and found a blanket draped over her and the shackle removed from her ankle. She blinked in surprise when she realized she’d also been given a real pillow, stuffed to the brim with feathers and wool.

What stunned her the most was the fact that her book was still there, untouched. A delicious aroma wafted through the air, filling her nose and making her mouth water. She slowly sat up and looked to find Emma preparing breakfast nearby.

“Good morning,” the blonde said, not sparing her so much as a glance.

“G-Good morning,” said Regina.

“I trust you slept well?”

“As well as I could.”

Emma chuckled. “Apologies if we kept you up. Killian and I have a tendency to be a bit, shall we say, _enthusiastic.”_

Despite her discomfort, a faint smile tugged at Regina’s lips. “I suppose that is one way of putting it.”

Once more, Emma laughed, and Regina knew deep down that she would do anything to hear the blonde laugh again. It was a sweet sound— an angelic sound— that she simply had to hear more of. She knew freedom was off the table, so she made it her goal to make Emma laugh instead. Maybe then she would win the woman’s favor, and if so, then she was going to use it to her full advantage.

* * *

 

While Killian and his friends were off explaining themselves to the Earl, who was none too happy that some of his best sailors had suddenly vanished without warning, Emma remained at home with the nun, whose bald head drew her gaze like a moth to a flame.

“Whatever happened to your hair? Were you always this way?”

“What? Oh. No,” said Regina, “All nuns must shave their heads.”

Emma cocked her head in confusion. “Why?”

“To prevent vanity, which in turn helps us grow closer to God.”

“And having hair somehow makes us vain?”

“Perhaps not everyone,” said Regina, “but we at the abbey always took precautions. Our lives were— _are—_ devoted to our Lord and Savior.”

“What is an abbey?”

“A place where nuns gather.”

“Nuns,” said Emma, “Are they priestesses?”

“No, not quite. There are no female priests.”

“Why?” “It is forbidden for women to hold authority over men.”

“Forgive me, but your customs are terribly restrictive. Can you do nothing without angering your lonely little God?”

“His word is above all. It is not my place to question Him.”

Emma folded her arms. “He seems less like a God and more like a _tyrant.”_

Regina seemed alarmed by this comment, but said nothing. She just stared out the window, sullen. The rain was growing heavier. She wondered if the angels were weeping for the senseless deaths of her fellow nuns, and the Abbess.

“What are you thinking about?” Emma asked her.

Regina sighed. “The other nuns,” she murmured, “All good friends to me. Good people all around. They were savagely murdered. Others perished on the ship. The rest, as I am sure you know, are now enslaved. I know not what I have done to deserve such a fate.”

She was shocked to find that she could cry no longer. She had shed one too many tears, it seemed. Now the angels were crying for her. She could feel the blonde’s eyes on her. When she met the woman’s gaze, she was stunned to see a look of remorse.

“I am sorry,” Emma told her, though Regina wasn’t sure if the woman was being sincere. “But this is your life now. You belong here, with us. Whether or not you will remain a slave has yet to be seen.”

“What must I do to earn my freedom?”

“Killian or I must grant it to you,” said Emma, “and as of now, I have no reason to do so. Come, _Regina._ I wish for you to learn how I prepare stew. There will come a time where I am unable to move around much, and I will need you to do the cooking.” She chuckled. “My husband is many things, but a cook, I am afraid, is not one of them.”

Regina was quiet for a moment. “So you are with child?”

Emma smiled. “I am,” she said softly, “We have been trying for a good while now, and our prayers have finally been answered.”

“You said you worshipped more than one God,” said Regina, “and I cannot help but notice that you, your husband and the others all wear these strange pendants. What do they mean?”

Emma clutched her silver pendant securely. “They are symbolic of _Mjölnir,_ the mighty hammer of Thor.”

“Thor? Is he commonly-worshipped?”

“Of course,” said Emma, “He is the God of Thunder, as well as the common folk, and of the farmers. He is a most noble and honorable God.”

Regina was quiet for a moment as she pondered this. “Who else do you praise?”

“Killian often prays to Njǫrðr, the Sea God,” said Emma, “and I have often called out to Freyja to bless me with the gift of life.” She brought a hand to her stomach. “And now, it has finally come to pass.”

“How far along are you?”

“Not very,” said Emma, “I missed my moonblood a few weeks prior, but thought nothing of it. I should not have disregarded it. I feel incredibly blessed.”

“I take it you have never been a mother before?”

“No,” said the blonde, “but how I long to be.”

“What do you think it will be? A boy or a girl?”

“It matters not. I care only that they are strong.”


	3. The Wedding of Thor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay.

“Tell me about your God,” Emma said to Regina one day, completely out of the blue.

Regina was taken aback by this. “What exactly do you wish to know?”

“What is his name?”

“His true name is sacred,” said Regina, “I dare not speak it.”

Emma frowned. “He demands worship, and yet you cannot even address him properly? What a strange little God you have. Your ‘Christianity’ astounds me.”

“As does your _Ásatrú,”_ Regina countered.

Hearing this made Emma laugh. “I suppose that is fair,” she said, “though my Gods do not restrict my freedoms. I may do whatever I please.”

“And what is it you wish to do?”

A smile graced the blonde’s lips. “Sail the world with my husband, searching for treasures and fighting all who stand in our way.” She brought a hand to her stomach, which had begun to swell. “And of course, I want to be a good mother to my children.”

“You plan to have more?”

Emma’s smile widened. “As many as I possibly can,” she murmured, “Children are a blessing. They are our future. I want to ensure my family thrives for generations to come. I pray the Gods will allow it.”

“What happens if they refuse?”

Emma sighed, hanging her head in shame. “Then I will have dishonored my family.”

“Are you unhappy?”

“Not at all,” said Emma, “I am happier now than ever before. I have a child on the way, a loving husband, and a long life ahead of me.”

Regina scratched her head awkwardly. Her hair had begun growing over the past month, and it was bothering her. Emma noticed this and chuckled.

“How does it feel, letting your hair grow out again?”

“Strange,” said Regina, “It has been so long since I had any hair. A part of me feels great shame for not shaving it.”

“And the other half?” asked Emma.

A smile tugged at the nun’s lips. “Rather enjoys it,” she said softly.

Emma grinned. “Wonderful. I imagine your hair will be quite beautiful, once it is long again.”

Heat rose to Regina’s cheeks, though she couldn’t understand why. She just nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose it will,” she said.

* * *

 Months passed, and towards the end of her pregnancy, Emma was unable to get around much, so Regina had to prepare meals for her and Killian. The blonde stayed in bed most of the time, save for getting up to relieve herself in the chamber pot, and her sleeping pattern had become sporadic. Her mood often went from one extreme to the other, but it became more stable in the last couple of months.

One night, after supper, Emma was sitting up in bed with her hand on her swollen stomach as she hummed softly. She looked up and smiled when her husband came into the room.

“Killian, my love,” she murmured, extending her delicate hand to him, “I have felt the baby kick.”

He took his wife’s hand gently as he climbed into bed beside her, delivering a sweet kiss to her lips. “How blessed we are, to finally have a child.” He placed his hand upon Emma’s stomach and kissed it. “We cannot wait to meet you, little one.” He looked up at his wife with a soft smile. “Have you decided on names?”

Emma grinned, despite the tears in her eyes. “If it is a girl, I will call her Runa,” she said.

“And if it is a boy?”

“Then his name shall be Henrik.”

“A good name,” said Killian, “A _strong_ name.”

Emma’s eyes were alight with joy. “Yes,” she murmured, “for our child will be strong.”

* * *

 _“Be strong!_ ” cried Killian.

He was clutching his wife’s hand tightly as she screamed. Regina was aiding with the birth, having experienced such things before. Emma’s tearful eyes were squeezed shut and her mouth was agape in a scream of agony. She was struggling to catch her breath between her cries of pain.

Killian may not have known what she was going through, but in that moment, he was certain that the pain in his heart rivaled his wife’s. His heart broke for her, seeing her in such misery, but he knew that it would soon be over, and all would be well.

It seemed like an eternity, but at long last, their child emerged from Emma’s womb. It was a boy. A crying, healthy boy— perfect in every way. After cutting the umbilical cord, Regina swaddled him in the woolen blanket Emma had made while bedridden and gently handed the crying boy to his equally-tearful mother.

“He is beautiful,” Emma sobbed, “He looks just like his father.” She held the boy close to her, smiling uncontrollably. “Henrik,” she murmured, “My sweet Henrik.”

Killian placed a gentle hand on the back of the boy’s tiny head. There were tears in his eyes. “Welcome, my son. Blessed are we, to have finally brought you into this world. It is so wonderful to meet you, Henrik.”

* * *

 That night, Killian lied next to his smiling wife while she held their precious son, relaying to the boy her favorite tale: the Wedding of Thor.

“The mighty Thor never set foot anywhere in the Nine Realms without his great hammer, Mjölnir. He even kept it at his side when he retired to bed each and every night after enjoying the finest mead alongside his fellow Gods. Alas, one morning, the red-bearded one awoke to find his hammer missing. You see, it had been stolen away in the night by the Chief of the Giants, Thrym. It was the trickster, Loki, who discovered this, and so he confronted Thrym, demanding the return of Mjölnir. Of course, Thrym refused, but declared that he would only return the hammer if he was given the Goddess Freyja as his wife.”

Emma smiled as she saw the baby’s eyes drifting shut, and she chuckled softly.

“It was the watchful Heimdall who suggested Thor go to Jotunheim, the Realm of the Giants, disguised as Freyja. As you can imagine, Thor did not exactly like this plan, for it is dishonorable for a man to don the clothing of a woman. Still, he allowed himself to be dressed in a bridal gown and veil and taken to Jotunheim to meet with Thrym and the other Giants, and he was accompanied by Loki, who disguised himself as a maid-servant.”

Henrik sneezed, which drew a chuckle from both his parents as well as Regina.

“As Thor and Loki were feasting with the Giants, the God of Thunder devoured an entire ox, eight salmon, and drank many a barrel of warm mead. Thrym found this awfully strange, and so he made it known that never had he witnessed such a strong appetite in a woman. Loki explained that this behavior was the result of _Freyja_ being lovesick for the fierce Giant. Thrym was convinced that the ‘Goddess’ was madly in love with him, and so he asked for a kiss from his _new bride._ Thor had no choice but to pull back his veil, glaring at Thrym with sheer hatred. Thrym commented that he had never witnessed such a frightful stare in a woman. Once more, Loki— always the trickster— claimed that _Freyja_ had been unable to find rest due to her excitement. When the time came for the ceremony, Thrym asked that Mjölnir be given to his ‘bride,’ and once the hammer was in Thor’s lap, the mighty God of Thunder used it to slay all of the Giants, starting with Thrym. And so, Thor and Loki returned to Asgard, and all was well within the Nine Realms.”

Emma smiled when she saw that Henrik was now sleeping peacefully, and so she carefully set him down inside the wool-lined cradle next to the bed. She stroked his head ever so gently.

 _“Goodnight, little one,”_ she murmured.


	4. Uppsala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've only just started this story and I'm already feeling less and less inspired to write it. I feel like people, for one reason or another, don't seem to believe me when I say this is *not* a SwanQueen story. Yes, I know I usually write SQ, but for once, I just wanted to do something different! No, one-sided/unrequited feelings do *not* equal a SQ relationship. No, it will not lead to SQ. I'm kind of frustrated by the whole thing, to be honest. I don't know if it was a good idea for me to start writing this in the first place. I'm honestly considering taking it down, but I'm not sure yet.

As the months went by, Emma was finally able to get around on her own without much difficulty, and so she no longer required a slave to tend to her needs. One day, while Henrik was nursing, she looked to Regina with remorse.

“You should never have been a slave,” she said, “but I cannot change the past. All I can do now is set you free, Regina.”

The brunette blinked at her, visibly taken aback. “You are making me a free woman?”

Emma gave a faint smile and a small nod. “I am.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I no longer need a slave. What I need is a friend,” said Emma, “I must confess, I do not have many.” Emma placed a hand on Regina’s shoulder. “You have been a great help for Killian and I, and for Henrik, of course. For that, I am releasing you from a life of servitude, though I would like you to stay.”

“Then I shall stay,” Regina said softly.

Emma’s smile widened. “Wonderful.”

* * *

  _Two years later…_

Regina was clashing with Killian in the yard, as he and Emma felt she would make a great warrior once trained properly. Her hair was now well-past her shoulders, pulled back in a tight braid with leather straps. She was as accustomed to her new life as one could possibly be.

A part of her longed to return to England, with her fellow Christians, for when she felt the gentle rain on her skin, she sensed that God was with her. On the other hand, when she heard the deafening roar of the thunder and saw the lightning pierce the sky, she felt the presence of the mighty Thor, and it shook her to her very soul.

“You should come with us,” said Killian.

Regina cocked her head in confusion. “Where?” she asked.

“To the temple at Uppsala. It is over in Sweden. We go there once every nine years.”

“Are you sure? I would not want to be in the way.”

Killian shook his head. “The more the merrier.”

Later, when Regina sat down at the table next to Henrik, Emma handed her a cup of ale, for which she was immensely grateful. “Killian tells me we are going to Uppsala.”

Emma smiled and nodded. “That we are. I do hope you will join us, my friend.”

“I would be honored. May I ask what the purpose of this trek is?”

“Every nine years, we all make the journey to Uppsala to give praise to the Gods for all that they have given us,” said Emma, “and of course, we celebrate with food and drink. There is music and dancing, and at the end of it all, we make sacrifices to the Gods.”

* * *

 They left three days later.

The trek to Uppsala was indeed a long one, though not too strenuous, but Henrik did not like walking for too long, and so he continuously demanded to be carried. Emma, Killian, and Regina all took turns carrying him while they walked through the seemingly-endless forest. At long last, they reached their destination, and entered the temple, in which colossal wooden statues of the Gods stood towering over them.

Killian approached the statue of Oðinn and placed his hand upon it. “Allfather,” he murmured, “I thank you for blessing me with a son. I pray that I will have many more, and that they, in turn, shall have strong sons of their own someday.”

Emma carried Henrik as she stepped up to the statue of Freyja. “I thank you, Freyja,” she rasped, “for giving me the gift of motherhood. I pray that I will provide my husband with many sons, who will one day grow strong, like their father.”

Soon after, the pagan priests came out in their white robes and dark makeup, flinging goat’s blood on the faces of Emma, Henrik, Killian, and finally— with only a moment’s hesitation— Regina. Once this was over, the four of them headed out to the main grounds, where there were numerous wooden pens containing various livestock.

“Are these the sacrifices?” asked Regina.

Emma nodded. “Yes. There is nine of everything. Nine hogs. Nine hens. Nine goats. Nine cattle.”

Regina looked towards the large, empty pen towards the back. “What about that one?” she asked.

“That one is for the humans,” said Emma.

Regina stiffened, but said nothing. She turned away, unable to look at it a moment more. She just walked off with Emma as they went to have drinks with Killian, Kristoff, and the others.

* * *

 Eventually, night fell, and Regina— more than a little drunk— stumbled into the temple and stared up at the statue of Oðinn. Her vision was a bit blurred, but still, she caught a glimpse of one of the priests in her peripheral and turned to find him staring at her suspiciously. He stepped closer to her with a look of obvious disdain.

“You are a Christian, are you not?”

Regina frowned a bit. “I— I was,” she said.

“And now?” he asked, “Have you renounced your false god?”

Regina swallowed. “Yes,” she told him.

An amused smile tugged at the man’s painted face. “Are you still a Christian?”

“I said no.”

“Once more,” the priest said quietly, staring her dead in the face.

Regina’s jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. _“No,”_ she whispered.

The priest was quiet for a moment, but his gaze never once wavered. “You know why you are here, do you not?” he asked her. When she said nothing, he continued, “You were brought here as a sacrifice.”

First Regina’s mouth fell agape as if to gasp, but no sound ever came, then her brows furrowed, and finally, her eyes grew wide with utter horror and betrayal. She went to reach for the crucifix hanging from her wrist, hoping her movement was subtle, but alas, the priest noticed this and grabbed her arm. Fury sparked in his eyes when he saw this, and they locked with hers once again. Regina took off running out of the temple as hard as her legs would carry her.

* * *

 “The Gods will not accept this sacrifice,” the priest declared, “for this woman is neither willing, nor has she renounced her false god. She is still a Christian at heart.”

The others were silent. Some were angry, some were remorseful, and the rest bore unreadable expressions.

“Who among you will offer yourself to the Gods?” asked the priest, “If the ceremony is not completed, we will anger the Gods, and in turn, they will curse us for as long as we shall live.”

After a moment, one man stood up. It was Franz, one of the many brothers of Hans and Jurgen. He stood with confidence, though his expression was stoic.

“I will do it,” he said firmly, “I will be the ninth sacrifice.”

The priest smiled and bowed his head out of respect. “Very well,” he said, “and so it is done. Enjoy your last days on this Earth, for you will soon join the Allfather in the Hall of the Slain.”

* * *

 When the time came for the sacrifice, Franz stood with his shoulders back and his head held high. His beard was braided, and was shirtless, sporting only a pair of baggy trousers. His chest and back were marked with depictions of dragons, wolves, and ravens. Around his neck hung a silver pendant in the shape of Thor’s hammer. He took it off and handed it over to Jurgen with a grim smile.

“See you in Valhǫll, little brother,” he said softly.

Jurgen swallowed, but nodded. “And you, my brother.”

Franz then turned and approached the stone table, which was stained red with the blood of all the sacrifices that had come before him. He lied back on the table, smiling up at the stars, for he knew he would soon ascend to Oðinn’s Great Hall, whose ceiling was made of shields and whose rafters were built from spears. How he looked forward to drinking ale with—

The priest’s blade cut his throat, and suddenly, there was no life in his eyes. 

Regina could only look on in horror and remorse, while the dead man’s brothers glared at her with sheer hatred and vitriol. She may not have seen this, but Emma certainly did, and stepped in front of her so as to shield her from the hateful stares.

* * *

 Later, Emma stepped out of her tent to find Killian sitting on a stump, sharpening his knife with a stone. She frowned at him, and he turned to look up at her with an unreadable expression.

“Why?” she asked bitterly.

“Why what?”

“Why did you keep this from me? Why would you not tell me that my friend was to be sacrificed? More importantly, why did you not tell _her?”_

“It was out of my hands. The others voted to have her sacrificed.”

“What _others?”_ Emma hissed.

“The men from the village. Mostly Franz’s brothers and some of the elders, and a few others.”

Emma folded her arms. “I wish you had told me.”

Killian stood up quickly. “What difference would it have made?” he snapped.

Emma scoffed in response, backhanding him, hard. There were angry tears slipping down her cheeks. “It would have meant that I lost my friend,” she rasped. And with that, she stormed back towards the tent. “You can sleep elsewhere tonight, _husband,”_ she spat.

Killian watched her until she was back in the tent, and he sighed, shaking his head slowly. “Very well, _wife,”_ he muttered, “Have it your way.”


	5. Amen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: death and depression.

They decided to stay in Uppsala for another day. Killian was with Henrik, praying to the Gods in the temple while Emma walked with Regina up onto the cliff overlooking the surrounding village. The blonde turned to her companion with a look of interest.

“How do you pray to your God?” she asked, out of the blue.

“Well, first we get down on our knees,” Regina said with a smile, doing just that.

Emma hesitated, but followed suit. “And then?”

“We bring our hands together, like this, and we bow our heads,” the brunette explained, “Then we recite the Lord’s Prayer.” She smiled faintly as she saw Emma’s hands come together in prayer. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.”

Emma went to stand up, but Regina grabbed her by the hand, gently pulling her back down.

 _“Amen,”_ Regina said again, with a knowing smile.

Emma rolled her eyes and knelt once more. “Amen,” she said with a huff.

* * *

 

“Please, Allfather,” Killian whispered, “do not let my wife be corrupted by the false teachings of a Christian. I will not lie. I do enjoy Regina’s company, but I fear that she is attempting to pull Emma away from the Æsir. That is why I did not protest when she was chosen as the sacrifice. I cannot allow my wife and son to be made into _Christians.”_ He spoke with disgust. “Just thinking of such a thing makes me ill. Please, wise one, tell me what I must do to protect my family.”

He waited for some time, though he wasn’t sure how long, exactly, but he received no answer. As if he wasn’t frustrated enough, this only added fuel to the fire. He took Henrik and walked out of the temple to look for his wife. Lo and behold, she was returning from the forest with Regina in tow.

“Emma,” he said quietly to her as she passed by.

Emma offered a small nod. “Killian.”

Killian did not offer a greeting to Regina, and he could not bring himself to look her in the eye.

* * *

 

A long while later, as they were heading back to their village, the group stopped to rest. Killian went to relieve himself behind the bushes, and when he looked up, he found Regina standing alone with her back against a tall tree. Emma was a short ways away, holding Henrik and showing him a bird’s nest.

Killian tucked his tunic back into his leather pants and made his way towards Regina with a look of fury. “What were you doing before? In the woods?” he asked accusingly.

Regina frowned. “We were walking,” she said, bewildered.

“Where?”

“Up to the cliff. We did not stay there long.”

“And what did you talk about?”

“Many things,” said Regina, “Nature. Animals. We spoke of how beautiful it all was. Why are you asking me this?”

“Did you speak of Christianity?”

Regina swallowed. “A-A bit, yes.”

Killian’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to convert her, Regina?” he asked, “Are you trying to corrupt my wife with your wicked ways?”

“I do not think it wicked,” Regina told him, “but no. She asked, and I answered. I am corrupting no one.” Her jaw clenched as she looked into his dark, angry eyes. “You want me dead,” she stated, “Is it because of my beliefs? Have I sullied your name? Your reputation?”

“I never should have made a free woman of you,” Killian hissed, “I sometimes wonder if I made a mistake in bringing you back alive. Perhaps I should shackle you once more.”

Regina started to say something, but Emma beat her to it. _“Killian! Step away from her!”_

The man turned, quickly, and locked eyes with his furious wife. “We were merely speaking.”

“And I know what it was you were speaking of,” Emma said angrily, “We both agreed, as husband and wife, to free Regina from servitude. If she wishes to serve us, it will be her decision, and we will give her coin in exchange. I will not see my friend sold back into slavery. Not now, nor ever! Do you hear me?”

Killian was fuming. “I hear you,” he muttered, promptly turning and storming away.

Emma scoffed. “You bear the arm ring of a man, and yet you are behaving like a petulant child!”

Killian froze, but did not look back at her. Then he kept on walking.

* * *

 

It wasn’t long after their return to the village that Emma grew ill. She recognized it immediately as the sickness she endured while pregnant with Henrik. She was pregnant. It was undoubtedly a result of the numerous nights she’d spent with Killian before she learned of Regina’s place among the sacrifices. She had not slept with her husband since this discovery, for numerous reasons, and she was still unhappy with him, but she felt blessed to be having another child.

* * *

 

Emma wondered if the Gods were angry with her. Had Killian been right all along? Was it wrong of her to inquire about the Christian God? Was it wrong of her to befriend a Christian woman? As she sat here in her blood-soaked bed, staring down at the empty space where her child had been, she wondered what she had done to deserve this.

She had given birth to a daughter, one she would have called _Runa,_ but the girl had not lived. She did not understand why. Everything had been going so well. It was going to be perfect, just like it was with Henrik. At least she still had him.

Her heart wept, for her eyes could not. She had cried enough. Her eyes could no longer shed tears. As hard as she tried, she could not take her eyes off of the pool of blood amid her thighs. Her body felt numb. She was unsure if she could move, but she made no effort to do so. Regina hesitantly approached her, but she did not meet the brunette’s gaze.

“Emma?” Regina asked softly, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Emma said nothing for the longest time. “Help me clean up this blood,” she said at last, barely above a whisper.

Regina’s brows came together in a concerned frown. “But Emma,” she said, “we already have.”

Again, the blonde was quiet, staring down at the crimson sheets beneath her. She blinked, and in an instant, the blood vanished.

“Oh,” she rasped, “Right.”

Regina placed a hand upon her friend’s shoulder. “I am here for you, Emma, if you need me.”

“Where is my husband?”

Regina swallowed, fighting back tears. “He has gone up into the mountains,” she said.

“Is he alone?”

“Yes.”

* * *

 

Killian sat upon the mountain with his knees to his chest and a cloak of fur wrapped around him. He stared blankly out at the ocean below. The sky was gray and the sun was snuffed out behind the silver clouds. All was quiet— even the wind, though it was cold— and yet the silence was grating, like steel against stone.

This was his fault. He had brought the Christian woman back from England, and as a result, she had corrupted his wife. She had poisoned Emma’s mind with the teachings of a false god. He should have killed her himself, rather than waiting for her to be sacrificed. He should have driven an axe into her head. If he did, would wicked spirits come out and dance? Oh, how he longed to know. But he knew that if he gave into his temptations, he would only drive his family further apart.

* * *

 

Regina was in her room, kneeling beside her bed with her head bowed and her eyes closed. She made the sign of the cross.

“Dear Lord,” she murmured, “please, I ask you to bring comfort to Emma and her husband. Though they are not Christian, they do not deserve such misery. Please, Lord, bless them with another child, who will live and grow, and whom they will love unconditionally. They are not without souls. They are simply misguided in their ways. Please, Lord, have mercy. Amen.”

Once more, she brought her fingers unto her forehead, then unto her navel, and unto each of her shoulders.

And all was quiet.


	6. Gothel

Emma refused to leave the house for weeks. She wouldn’t eat or drink anything unless Killian or Regina made her. Even then, she ate very little. The only one who seemed capable of comforting her was Henrik. He would curl up beside her and hug her, which brought her a sense of peace, however brief.

She rarely slept, but when she did, she always woke up sobbing and shaking uncontrollably, enduring terrible nightmares that would forever haunt her. Eventually, things got so bad that not even Henrik could bring her comfort anymore.

She was certain the Gods were angry with her. They had to be. Why else would they have allowed this to happen? Perhaps they hadn’t just allowed it. Perhaps they themselves were the cause of her pain.

It wasn’t until a month after the loss of her daughter that Emma finally mustered up the strength and the courage to set foot outside, and when she did, she went straight to the Seer. It was the middle of the night when she sought him out, and the moon was full. There was no better time to seek his wisdom and guidance.

“Will I ever bear another child?” she asked him.

“Your husband will have many children,” replied the Seer.

A hopeful smile graced Emma’s lips. “So the Gods have not cursed me,” she murmured, “For this, I am most grateful.”

The man held out his hand, palm up, and Emma held it gently as she leaned down, and she ran her tongue up his palm in a show of silent gratitude. She left his hut in silence, smiling faintly, for she was hopeful that she would one day bring another child into the world.

Killian left for a week with Kristoff, Hans, Jurgen, and several other men to go out hunting. In his absence, Emma began feeling much better and started getting around more. She was finally in a good enough place, mentally, to care for herself and her son, and of course, Regina was a tremendous help as well.

“Thank you for being here, Regina,” she said one day, “You have no idea how much it means to me.”

Regina smiled warmly at her. “It is my pleasure. I will always be here for you, Emma. You are my friend.”

The brunette struggled and failed to ignore the desire that surged through her each time she looked at Emma, but she knew it could never be. Emma loved her in a strictly-platonic sense. Any other way was a sin against the Almighty, and nature itself. She could only be here for Emma as a friend, and as much as it pained her, she knew it would have to be enough.

* * *

 Emma should have known the Gods were still angry with her.

When Killian returned from his hunting trip, he behaved strangely, but Emma assumed it was just due to his grief. For that, she could not blame him. However, when a mysterious woman arrived just three days after he did, Emma knew exactly what he had done, and fury overwhelmed her senses.

The woman introduced herself as Gothel. Emma recognized the name immediately. This woman was a Princess, rumored to be descended from Elves. Her father was the legendary Slayer of Fafnir, Sigurd, and her mother, Brynhildr, was a shield maiden. She, in turn, was a _Völva—_ a Shamaness, whose dreams foretold the future. Of all the strange things she claimed were true, her declaration that she was carrying Killian’s child seemed the most impossible, and yet Emma knew that what she said was true.

That was why Emma couldn’t bring herself to stay. She took Henrik, a small bag of her belongings, some weapons, and of course, she brought Regina. Then she left Killian behind with his _precious Princess_ and went to live in a small village far away. The Seer had said Killian would have many children. Alas, it would not be with her.

* * *

 Thirteen winters passed and Henrik was now fifteen— practically a man, though he lacked the arm ring to prove it. He was out chopping wood one morning when a cloaked man on a horse came riding towards him through the trees. He gripped his axe tightly, fearing that the man bore ill-intent.

“Mother!” he called, “There is a man here. I know not what he wants.”

Emma emerged from her modest dwelling with Regina in tow. Both women were visibly concerned.

“Who are you?” Emma asked the man as he rode up to the house.

“My name is Adair,” he told her, “I have been searching for you for quite some time, Emma Svanr.”

Emma and Regina exchanged a puzzled glance.

The blonde eyed Adair warily. “And why is that?”

“Earl Killian sent me to find you.”

Emma’s eyes widened. _“Earl_ Killian?”

Adair nodded. “Yes. He faced against the old Earl in combat and won.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Seven years.”

Emma was silent for a moment as she pondered this. “And why has he sent you to find me? Surely he knows I do not wish to return, after his treachery.”

“He is aware,” said the messenger, “but he wishes to see you and Henrik again. He feels it is time his son became a man.”

“As much as it pains me to admit, I must agree,” said Emma, “Very well. We will go with you to meet  _Earl Killian.”_

Adair nodded. “Wonderful. We leave for Kattegat at sunrise.”

* * *

 Killian, as it turned out, was an Earl in name only. He was a bitter drunkard whose breath reeked of mead and whose words were slurred. He was a pathetic shell of his former self, and Emma found herself wishing she’d never returned to him. Seeing him this way made her physically ill.

“Emma,” the man grunted, “where is our boy?”

The blonde brought a hand to Henrik’s shoulder, gently ushering him forward. “Right here,” she said, “It is about time he became a man.”

Killian smiled faintly and nodded. “Yes,” he said, “it most certainly is.” He took a sip from his curved horn. “But first, I would like you to meet my children.” Four children, two boys and two girls, stepped in front of Emma, Henrik, and Regina. “These little devils are Alice, Liam, Hansel and Gretel.”

Emma forced herself to smile. “It is— nice to meet you,” she said.

“And this,” Killian said, gesturing to the witch at his side, “is my wife, Gothel. I am sure you remember her.”

Emma clenched her jaw. “Yes,” she said quietly, “I remember.” It took everything in her not to strangle the witch, who regarded her with a not-so-subtle smirk.

* * *

 Later, as she entered the room Killian had so graciously provided her, Emma wept openly. Regina found her this way and attempted to console her, but it was no use. Eventually, Emma cried herself to sleep, and Regina sat against the side of the bed, not wishing to leave her friend’s side.


	7. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: character deaths (though one is well-deserved).

Having lived among the pagans for over a decade, Regina knew all that there was to know about their faith. Though she recognized that some of their customs and practices were barbaric, she realized that they found faith just as important as Christians did. Regina still struggled with her own beliefs. She found it difficult to embrace the God of the Bible and the pagan Gods all at once.

Her moral compass was leading her in circles.

Everything changed when a mysterious illness swept through Kattegat. Many fell sick. Many died. When Regina herself contracted the disease, she feared this would be the end of her.

She prayed to Oðinn, pleading with him to heal her. She received no answer.

She prayed the other Gods as well. Again, no answer.

When she prayed to the Christian God, however, she began feeling better just three days later. Three. _The Trinity._

If this was not a sign, then she didn’t know what was.

She had finally found her way back onto the path of righteousness. There was no God but that of the Bible. That was the undeniable truth. She had been born again.

* * *

 

Emma frowned. _“Born again?”_ she quizzed, “You mean…?”

She gestured to Regina’s stomach.

Regina chuckled and shook her head, taking hold of Emma’s hands. “No,” she murmured, “I have been reborn through the blood of Christ. I am a new woman. I must take up my mission once more and serve my God.”

“So you are a Christian again?”

Regina nodded enthusiastically. “Yes,” she said with a bright smile, “That is why I must return to England and—”

Emma stood up abruptly, looking furious. _“No!”_ she snapped. Seeing the alarm in Regina’s eyes, her demeanor softened. “No,” she said, this time more quietly, “You cannot leave me. You are my friend. I _love you—_ and we have so much to discuss.”

“Right,” Regina said quietly, “Then I shall stay.”

Emma smiled and gently cupped the brunette’s face. “Good,” she said, “You have my gratitude, Regina.”

* * *

 

That night, not long before they were to have a feast, Emma was speaking with Killian out on the shoreline, letting the waves roll over her bare feet before ebbing back into the sea. The sun was setting, and it was truly beautiful.

“So,” she said quietly, “how did you meet her?”

Killian sighed, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “While the others and I were hunting, Hans and Jurgen went to the river to fish with their spears. They spotted a woman bathing and were entranced by her, but they were accosted by a band of shield maidens who served the bathing woman— Princess Gothel. I was forced to apologize on their behalf and invited the Princess to drink with us at our camp. We were all drunk and things got a bit _out of hand._ I know it does not excuse what happened, but that is the reason.”

“Why did you marry her?” Emma asked bluntly.

“Because you left,” Killian said. The pain and remorse in his words was evident. He looked at Emma with guilt in his eyes. “And because she was pregnant with my child. I could not just turn her away. On top of all that, she was a Princess. I could have had you both, you know. It is not unheard of for Earls to have more than one wife.”

Tears slipped down Emma’s cheeks. “But _I_ was your wife,” she rasped, _“Me._ You sacrificed your hand for me. What about her? Do you love her? Truly? Do you love her enough to sacrifice the other?”

Killian’s jaw clenched. He hesitated to answer. “I care for her,” he said slowly, “She is the mother of my children— but you, Emma Svanr, are the only woman I have ever _truly loved.”_

They embraced as though they never intended to let go. They wished they didn’t have to. What they didn’t realize was that back in the village, a lone figure was lurking in the darkness, watching with sheer hatred and rage as Regina prayed to a strange God.

“Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned,” murmured the brunette.

She had tears streaking her face, but then she smiled, for she felt a sense of peace wash over her, even as Gothel appeared in her doorway with a look of fury and a large axe in hand.

Regina looked back to the cross she had built. “I am prepared, Lord. I am prepared for divine judgement—”

Suddenly, Gothel was lunging at her with a cry of anger, and she felt a brief burst of pain that ended as quickly as it began.

Then there was silence. No more empty prayers to a meaningless, pathetic little god.

Only Gothel remained, panting heavily as she loomed over the Christian woman’s body. How she reveled in the bloody masterpiece she had made of the Christian’s skull. It amazed her to know that the brunette did, in fact, possess a brain. She could see it, clear as day, and it was glorious.

“Oðinn be praised,” she said under her breath.

And she disappeared beneath the cover of darkness.

* * *

 

Though the pain in her chest was excruciating, Emma shed no tears. It seemed she could produce them no longer. She had wept enough that she could weep no more. Regina was dead. Her truest friend, ripped away from her, just like that. Had it been a distraction? A ruse? Did her former husband truly mean any of the things he had told her? Or was it all just a ploy to lure her away from her only friend?

At first she wasn’t sure who had killed Regina, for it could have been any one of the villagers, but when she happened to lock eyes with Gothel, her blood ran cold. She knew then who was responsible. She couldn’t help wondering if Killian had known this would happen, but she would not accuse him of such a thing without proof.

Later, as everyone else was sleeping, Emma crept out into the woods and came across a patch of deadly nightshade. Just what she was looking for. She ground it up on an old tree stump with a smooth stone and gathered it up into a small leather pouch, which she tucked away in her tunic.

The next morning, Killian noticed immediately that his wife was not breathing. As if that wasn’t horrific enough, Emma and Henrik were missing, and it seemed they had taken Regina’s body with them. That was when he made the connection. Gothel had killed Regina, and Emma— one way or another— had sought revenge. He couldn’t exactly blame her, though it did infuriate him, for now his children would grow up without their mother.

Henrik was on horseback, and the tall creature was pulling the cart that held his traumatized mother and the body of his good friend, Regina, wrapped up in a thin sheet. Emma was holding Regina’s crucifix pendant in her trembling hand, staring at it with a mix of guilt, pain, and anger. After what seemed like an eternity, she closed her eyes and hung the precious treasure from her neck, and she tucked it away beneath her tunic with a heavy sigh.


	8. Farewell

It was the first time since marrying Killian that Emma had seen her father. Her mother had died when she was a child, and so her father was the only family besides Henrik that she had left. Upon arriving in her old village, Emma was overwhelmed with the bittersweet memories of her childhood. Her father still lived in the same old home, though it seemed he had long-since taken on a new wife, Brunilda. She wanted to be happy for him, but how could she be, when she could not even be happy with herself?

Her father, Dagvid, was the village Earl. He was ecstatic to know he had a grandson. He and Henrik got on well, it seemed, so Emma took Regina’s body, still wrapped in cloth, and hoisted the brunette up over her shoulder before making her way up into the hills overlooking a beautiful waterfall. As she climbed to the top of a steep hill, she spoke to her dead friend, hoping that somehow, someway, Regina could still hear her.

“You would have liked this place, I think. You probably would have said it reminded you of your lonely God.” Emma sighed as she set Regina’s body down gently. “I miss you, my friend. You were certainly a strange one. I saw the way you looked at me, and when we would lock eyes, I often saw your face redden as you turned away.”

She broke off a branch from a tree and began to dig a hole in the earth.

“If you can hear me, I want you to know that I was never bothered by it, though I did not see you in that way. I loved you, but I could not love you the way a woman loves her husband. For that, I am sorry,” she said as she finished digging the hole, “and I am sorry that we will never see each other again. I am sure your God would not want me in your ‘Heaven.’ Such a shame. I like to think I would make the place a bit more interesting.”

She carefully set Regina’s body down into the hole and stared at the brunette for a moment. It looked as though the Christian woman was only sleeping. Again, Emma let out a heavy sigh.

“I am sure it would be the same if you were to come with me to Valhǫll,” she murmured. She looked to the sky as it began to rain. “Do not cry, my friend. Let there be no more tears between us.”

But the rain continued on, ever so gently, as Emma buried her friend. She took the hammer-shaped pendant from her neck and set it delicately onto Regina’s chest.

“If you do not reach your Heaven, then perhaps the Allfather will welcome you anyhow. I will beg him, if I must. I wish things did not have to be this way, my friend, but it has come to pass.”

Once she had packed the dirt nice and tight, ensuring it would not be disturbed by the rain, she broke the branch in two and bound the halves together with some rope she had brought along, fixing them in the shape of the Christian cross. She stuck the cross into the ground near Regina’s head and sat there for a while, not saying a word.

When lightning began to strike in the distance, Emma stood up, looking down at her friend’s grave with great sorrow.

“Farewell, Regina,” she whispered.

She then made her way back down to the village and found her father encouraging Henrik to drink. She found this mildly frustrating, as she had never allowed her son to drink before.

“Father,” she fussed, “I do not wish for my son to drink mead.”

“Come now,” said Dagvid, “He is a man. He can drink if he so chooses.”

“He never got his arm ring,” Emma told him.

This seemed to stun her father. “Is that so? Well, all the more reason to do it now,” he said, smiling, “Tomorrow at sundown, Henrik, you shall officially become a man. What say you?”

Henrik smiled. “I would like that,” he said.

Dagvid chuckled and ruffled his grandson’s hair. “Wonderful! Perhaps making you a man will give you a beard, as well. Every man needs a beard.” Emma folded her arms with an amused smile. “It’s not as though he will grow one overnight, Father.”

“No, but I pray it will come quickly.”

* * *

 

When the time came for Henrik to receive his arm ring, the whole village was in attendance, smiling as they watched him approach Earl Dagvid. He knelt down before his grandfather, who presented a long blade on which handfuls of earth and salt were placed.

“In becoming a man, you must devote yourself to the land and to the sea,” said Dagvid.

Henry bowed his head and pressed his lips onto the earth, then onto the salt.

Dagvid smiled and set the blade aside. “And now, Henrik, I present you with your arm ring.” He retrieved a silver ring with wolf heads at each end and slid it onto Henrik’s forearm.

“In giving you this ring, you must pledge loyalty to me, your Chieftain, and any promises sworn on your arm ring must be kept. Failure to stay true to your word will result in the wrath of the Gods, as you will have insulted them. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lord.”

Dagvid nodded. “Good. Now rise, Henrik. You are a man now. Go and drink your weight in mead.”

* * *

 

Later, as Henrik lay passed out on the bed, Emma stepped into the main room and found her father sitting at the table with a look of worry on his bearded face.

“Emma,” he said softly, “Will you tell me about your friend? Henrik told me she had been killed, but said nothing more. He felt it was not his place to say.”

Emma felt like she could have cried right then, but no tears ever came. She sighed heavily as she sat down next to her father.

“Her name was Regina,” she said, “She was a Christian woman from the kingdom of Northumbria. Killian brought her to me as a slave when I was pregnant, but I made her a free woman later on. She was my greatest friend. I found her beliefs strange, though she was very good to me, and to Henrik. As I am sure you know, Killian married the Princess, Gothel, and they had several children. Only recently did he reach out to me and invited Regina, Henrik and I to feast with him. He is an Earl now, like you. It was Gothel who took Regina from me. Of that, I have no doubt. So I poisoned her.”

Dagvid was visibly stunned by this, but he gave his daughter’s hand a tight squeeze. “You did what you felt was right. Had you not sought vengeance, the Gods would have cursed you.”

“I know, Father,” Emma whispered, “but I did not do it for the Gods. I did it for Regina.”

“I would have done the same, had someone taken your mother from me in such a way,” said Dagvid, “and you, of course. You, Henrik, and Brunilda.”

“Thank you,” said Emma.

“For what?”

A sad smile tugged at Emma’s lips. “Understanding.”

Dagvid was silent for a moment. “You buried her today, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I would have helped you. All you had to do was ask.”

“I’m sure you would have, but it was something I needed to do alone.”

Dagvid just nodded, and the two of them sat in silence as the fire burned within the mantel.


	9. Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short but important chapter.

Three days later, as Emma was sitting under the large tree that loomed over her friend’s grave, she heard the crunching of leaves and the snapping of twigs, indicating that she was not as alone as she would have preferred. She assumed it was either Henrik or her father coming up the hill, but when she looked up, she found herself staring into the unreadable face of her former husband.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she asked him.

“What do you think?” Killian retorted. He let out a heavy sigh. “Tell me why, Emma. Tell me why you killed Gothel.”

Emma reached up and touched the wooden cross she’d driven into the ground. _“This is why,”_ she said bitterly.

“You believe she was to blame for Regina’s death?”

“Who else could it have been?” Emma snapped, “For all I know, you were the one who put her up to it. After all, it was you who insisted Henrik and I come to Kattegat. We could have been civil, Killian. I know we could have, though it would be _quite_ difficult. But that was before your _wife_ murdered my friend in cold blood.”

“I had no part in this,” Killian told her, “I swear it, upon my arm ring.”

 _“No,”_ Emma seethed, “You once swore that you would be the greatest husband in all the realms. You swore you would be forever loyal, but then you betrayed that oath. You have cursed us all with your deceit. Give me one good reason why I should believe you.”

Killian extended his hand to her. “I want you to come with me,” he said.

Emma’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Where?”

“To England. I have decided to raid there once more, and I want to try and make up for all my wrongdoings. Will you join me, Emma?”

The blonde was silent for a moment. “I would have liked to bring Regina along. I am sure she missed her homeland.” She sighed as she stood up, brushing herself off. “But I wish for my father to come along.”

“And Henrik?”

“He is a man now. He may go if he chooses.”

“I take it he has his arm ring now?”

“He does.”

“And he has sworn loyalty to Dagvid?”

“Yes.”

Killian was noticeably angry. “He should have sworn loyalty to _me,_ his _father.”_

“Well, it is too late for that now. You may be his father, but you are not his Earl, nor are you mine.”

* * *

 

Killian stood before the glowering Earl. “I beg you, Earl Dagvid, come raiding with me in England. There we shall find endless treasures.”

“Why should I risk the lives of my people, or the security of my ships? Why should I put my reputation and wealth on the line? Answer me that, _Killian the Left-Handed.”_

“Because,” said Killian, “I want to make it up to Emma. I want to take her raiding with me, as I once promised her. I want to make her happy.”

Dagvid glared at him. “If that was true, you would never have lain with Gothel, nor would you have married her. Laying with that witch was no different than driving a blade into my daughter’s heart, and marrying her? Why, it was _twisting the knife!_ Have you no shame?”

Suddenly, Emma stepped forward. “I will go with you,” she said.

Everyone looked at her in surprise— especially her father and former husband. _“You will?”_ the two asked in unison.

Emma gave a curt nod. “Yes. I want to explore England. I want to know what sort of land my friend came from, along with the culture and riches within it. I will understand if you choose to decline, father, but I wish for you and your finest raiders to join Earl Killian— and if he is up for it, I want Henrik to come, as well.”

Henrik’s eyes lit up. “I would be honored, Mother.”

Dagvid was visibly reluctant. “Are you certain, Emma?”

Again, Emma nodded. “I am. I wish to honor my friend, just as Earl Killian wishes to honor his pledge.”

“Very well,” said Dagvid, “We will go raiding with you, Killian, but I swear upon my arm ring, should any harm befall my daughter or grandson, I will place the blame on you and you alone, and I shall personally behead you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Of course, Earl Dagvid. I would do the same, were it either of my daughters.”

“Your daughters,” Dagvid said spitefully, “Do you mean the ones _Gothel_ bore you?”

Killian nodded. “Yes.”

“Let us speak that name no more,” said Dagvid, “Anyone who defies this order shall be fined a pound of silver. Do I make myself clear?”

 _“Yes, Lord,”_ the crowd said in unison.

“Very well. We shall be joining you, Killian. When do you plan to raid?”

“In the spring. That should give us enough time to prepare and gather supplies.”

Dagvid nodded in agreement. “And so it shall be done. I must confess, I do look forward to seeing this ‘England’ for myself.”

“As do I, Father,” Emma said softly, “As do I.”


	10. Raid

After many months, the time had finally come to join Killian in the raid of England. No one would ever suspect a thing. Emma’s knowledge of Christianity would certainly be of use. She was sure of it.

The days it took to reach Northumbria seemed to blend together, but after all these years, Emma finally had the chance to fulfill her dream, despite not quite doing it the way she had hoped. Upon their arrival, they spotted a terrified Englishman and Killian was quick to apprehend the cowering man, demanding he lead them to the nearest village.

While Killian’s English was rusty, at best, Emma had learned so much from her Christian friend. She eyed her former husband with a mix of bravado and disdain as she spoke with the English fellow.

“What day is it?” she asked him.

“S-Saturday,” the man stammered.

A smile tugged at Emma’s lips. “Thank you.”

Killian frowned in confusion. “What did you say?”

“I asked him what day it was.”

“Why?”

“Because, Killian, Sunday is the Christian day of worship, and fortunately for us, that day just so happens to be tomorrow.” Her smile widened as she saw the realization dance across Killian’s face.

“Emma Svanr, you are truly remarkable.”

And so, when everyone was informed of the plan, they were very pleased with the whole thing. They held the Englishman prisoner, allowing him to pray to his strange god until morning, at which point he would meet his maker.

* * *

 

Dawn came, and Killian slit the Englishman’s throat with his newly-sharpened axe. The raiders waited in the forest in silence, waiting until the bells rang, and all the people of the town grew quiet as they entered the church. The time had come.

With their faces painted with the blood of the Englishman, the raiders stalked towards the quiet village without a word. As they grew closer to the church, they could hear some sort of slow chanting in a language none of them recognized, save for Emma of course. She recognized it as Latin, since Regina had spoken it numerous times throughout the years, though she only knew a few words. In the end, it didn’t matter. They broke down the doors and everyone inside started screaming in terror.

That was when the killing began. There was blood everywhere. Axes parting skulls and blades severing limbs. It was a massacre. The priest did everything he could to try and calm the traumatized villagers, but the closer Killian got to him, the louder his voice became.

Frustrated by the unintelligible ramblings, Killian drew the axe from the loop in his belt and drove it straight into the priest’s forehead. He kept a tight grip on his bloody weapon as he took notice of the golden, jewel-encrusted cup. Peering into it, he smelled the strange liquid inside and picked it up, turning towards the villagers as they looked on in utter horror.

He tentatively took a sip of the red liquid, only to spit it out just as quickly. The villagers were left aghast, gasping in shock as though he’d committed a grave offense. This annoyed him even further, and so he slung the liquid into the face of the man closest to him. He tossed the golden cup to Kristoff and proceeded to kill the Christian man in the same manner as the priest.

Emma watched this from the entrance, suddenly feeling conflicted. She wore the Christian cross beneath her tunic, and yet, she stood by doing nothing to stop the carnage. Henrik stood by her side, seeming equally-apprehensive, and likely for the same reason.

“Mother,” he whispered, “is it not dishonor to slay unarmed men?”

“Only if the men are one of us,” Emma said quietly.

“What about the women?”

“Just as I said, Henrik,” murmured the blonde, “If they are not one of us, they are expendable.”

“And do you believe that?”

“It matters not if I believe it,” said Emma, “The outcome will be the same.”

They were both silent after that, and soon, so were the villagers.

* * *

 

Night fell, and Emma sat by the fire with her arms folded, staring into the dancing flames with an unreadable expression.

“What troubles you, Emma?” Killian asked her, noticeably drunk, “Is this not everything you had hoped it would be?”

“No,” Emma said quietly, not meeting his glossy gaze, “Perhaps it would have been, if you’d taken me with you the first time.”

“Aye,” said Killian, seeming to sober up a bit, “but that’s all in the past now. Let us worry about right now, and what is yet to come. Come, Emma, have a drink, won’t you?”

“I am in no mood to drink.”

“Suit yourself.”

Killian staggered away, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts. Before long, she drifted into a deep sleep.

_She found herself standing on a beach, wearing a loose tunic and tight pants. The sky was gray, but there was no rain. Just the light spray of the ocean and the scent of salt wafting in the cold air. She looked around, startled, when she heard Regina’s voice._

_“Hello, Emma.”_

_She turned to find the brunette standing not far behind her, offering a solemn smile. She rushed towards her friend’s spirit and pulled Regina into a tight embrace._

_“_ _Regina,” she whispered, “I have missed you terribly.”_

_Tears slipped down her cheeks, but the brunette reached up and carefully wiped them away._

_“You promised there would be no more tears between us,” Regina said softly._

_Emma sighed. “I know. Forgive me. I am just so terribly conflicted.”_

_“I understand, Emma.”_

_“Regina,” Emma rasped, “I’ve done a terrible thing, and I have no idea how to make up for it.”_

_Regina wordlessly reached out and pulled the crucifix out from Emma’s tunic. “Of course you do, my friend. You have been carrying the knowledge with you all along.”_

_“You— You wish for me to become Christian?”_

_“That is the only way we shall meet again, Emma Svanr.”_

Emma awoke with a gasp, and as if on instinct, reached for the pendant around her neck. She swallowed, looking around for any trace of her friend. Regina was nowhere to be found. There was only an array of slumbering, drunken men with the blood of the innocent speckled and smeared across their bearded faces. Emma was overcome with a sudden wave of nausea and rushed into the woods to purge her stomach of all its contents. When her stomach was empty, she struggled to catch her breath as she looked up towards the sky.

“You have put me in an uncomfortable position, Regina,” she said aloud, “but I will do my best. That I swear.”


	11. Christian

What the raiders failed to realize was that one of the villagers had managed to escape the brutality and run to the nearest town, where he was stopped by a suspicious guard.

“What are you running from?” asked the guard, “You wouldn’t be a thief, would you?”

The frightened man shook his head vehemently. “N-No sir!” he insisted, panting heavily, “There are invaders— murderers! They’ve slaughtered everyone in the church! They— They even murdered the priest!” He broke down into tears. “And those savages, they took my wife from me! She was with child! Please, you must go and alert the King! Those monsters must be stopped!”

The guard was horrified, and didn’t hesitate to do as the villager said. Within the span of a few hours, the King of Northumbria received word of the massacre, and needless to say, he was beyond furious.

“This heinous crime shall not go unpunished!” he roared, “Send a troop to investigate! I want these _heathens_ brought before me!”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the Herald, “though I feel there is something else you should know. According to the messenger, the witness claimed that the savages mentioned a word numerous times.”

The King’s frown deepened. “A word? What word?”

_“Killian.”_

“Killian? What does it mean?”

“I do not know, Your Majesty.”

“Well, whatever it means, I am sure we will find out soon enough.”

* * *

 

The palace was abuzz with fearful murmurs as the bloody raiders approached. Among them was a man with a gauntlet shielding his left hand, a golden-haired beauty, and a boy who couldn’t have been a day over fifteen.

The raiders were brought into a dining hall full of visibly-uncomfortable Christians. Sitting alongside a priest and several other nobles was an old man with frigid blue eyes. Judging by the fancy crown atop his bald head, it seemed that this was the King. He was _far_ from pleased.

“Do not mistake my invitation as one of kindness,” the King said bitterly, “I have asked you to come here so that we could talk. Which one of you _heathens_ is in command?”

Emma relayed the King’s words to Killian in their native tongue, and so Killian stepped forward. He struggled to get the words out, but appeared confident.

“I am,” he said.

“And what is your name?”

“Killian.”

“Ah. It all makes sense now,” said the King, “I am George, King of Northumbria. Am I right in assuming it was you who pillaged the abbey all those years ago?”

Killian didn’t understand everything, but he knew enough English to figure it out, and so he nodded.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Why now? Why wait so long to try again?”

“I will not spill all my secrets, _King George,”_ said Killian.

The King narrowed his eyes. “I am willing— albeit reluctantly— to bargain with you, Killian. I will provide you your weight in gold if you vow to leave my kingdom and never return. I trust this will suffice?”

Killian’s smile widened. “We are all quite hungry,” he said, “I wish to eat, and afterwards, we shall see if we can come to an agreement.”

The disgust on George’s face was impossible to miss, yet he knew he didn’t have much of a choice. “Very well,” he said, turning towards the servants, “Bring out the feast.”

The servants came around and set numerous plates of food on each of the tables, and the raiders all took their seats. The King began to recite the Lord’s Prayer, but was appalled when the invaders started tearing into the meat, fish, and bread provided for them. They remained seemingly-oblivious to the offense they had caused, or perhaps they were just coldly apathetic.

Regardless, the King finished the prayer with a bitter, _‘Amen.’_

When the young son of a nobleman came scampering towards the raiders, Killian was the first to notice him and smiled, offering the boy a cup of ale.

_“Skál,”_ he said playfully, sensing the boy’s sudden unease. Again, he held out the cup. “Drink?” he offered.

The others chuckled at the boy’s notable apprehension.

The King forced a smile as he watched this bizarre interaction, and the boy’s mother swiftly pulled him away from the savages. The invaders continued to tear into their food like animals, laughing and joking with one another. They seemed fascinated by the plates on which their food had been served. It was Kristoff who first broke one of the plates by smashing it over his head. The others found this especially amusing and were quick to follow suit, much to the horror of the Christians.

“Tell me,” the King said, trying to suppress his rage, “What is it you want, _Killian?_ What is it that will keep you away from my kingdom?”

Killian smiled. “What _we_ want,” he said, “is three-thousand pounds of gold.”

The King nearly choked. “Three-thousand?!” he cried, “Not even _I_ have that much gold! Where do you expect me to procure such a high amount?”

“You tell me, _Your Majesty,”_ Killian taunted.

King George was radiating with fury. With a heavy sigh, he just nodded. “Very well,” he said as he folded his fingers, “but if I am to further this transaction, one of you must agree to be baptized into the Christian faith. I would feel much better knowing I was keeping a promise to a fellow Christian.”

A smirk tugged at Killian’s lips. The others seemed confused, murmuring to him in their guttural language.

“What did he say?” asked Kristoff.

Killian eyed the others with a look of amusement. “He wants one of us to become _Christian.”_

Everyone— save for Emma and Henrik— guffawed, which only added fuel to the King’s fiery rage. Their laughter was cut off abruptly, however, when Emma stood up and faced the King with a seemingly-genuine smile. They stared at her in shock and anger.

_“I_ will become Christian,” she said in the King’s language.

This brought a look of surprise to the King’s face, along with a pleased grin. “Wonderful,” he said, raising his goblet to her, “A toast, to the future Christian woman. May God bless her and lead her onto the path of righteousness.”

Emma paid no mind to Killian or the others as they glowered at her.

* * *

 

The raiders stood by in anger as they watched Emma follow a priest out into a shallow part of the lake, where the water came up to her waist. The baptism was a strange ritual, though brief. Emma was visibly taken aback as the priest dipped her into the chilled water, only to lift her back up just as quickly.

“Now that you are a part of our faith, I hereby grant you with the new Christian name, _Elizabeth._ May God bless you and lead you onto the path of righteousness.”

Killian and Dagvid exchanged a look of displeasure, but said nothing.

* * *

 

_“How could you do this?!”_ Killian shouted.

Emma started to respond, but he beat her to it.

“How could you betray the Gods?! Do they mean so little to you that you would turn your back on them in favor of the lonely Christian god?!”

“I have not turned my back on anyone,” Emma said with a frown, “I have chosen to look upward.”

“Regina put this nonsense in your mind! She corrupted you! I should have known!”

_“No._ I reached this decision on my own,” said Emma. She pulled the crucifix out from her tunic. “I put this on the day she was killed, and I have yet to remove it. I swore I never would.”

“You are a traitor to the Gods! To our people! To your family! To _me!”_

Emma slapped Killian as hard as she possibly could. “Do not lecture _me_ about betrayal!” she hissed, “Not after all that you have done!”

Killian went to strike her, but then Kristoff came rushing into the tent. “Killian!” he cried joyously, “The King’s men have brought a wagon of gold!”

“Oh? That was quick,” said Killian, “and the King told us he didn’t have it.” He looked to Emma with uncertainty. “Perhaps your betrayal was a blessing in disguise.” He left the tent before Emma had a chance to respond.

There was an old wagon loaded with wooden chests and trunks. Killian sent three men to go and fetch them, but when the men opened up the chests, they were outraged.

“They are empty!” cried one of the men.

Killian’s eyes grew wide. “Get back here! Quickly!”

But it was too late. Arrows began flying, and the three men were struck down before they knew what hit them.

“Arm yourselves!” shouted Dagvid.

Men on horseback came charging towards the camp with men on foot following close behind. When they reached the entrance of the little camp, however, the raiders pulled on some tight vines and a wall of wooden spikes came flying up from beneath a blanket of grass and weeds, impaling both man and horse. There was blood everywhere. Screams of pain and terror rang out.

Emma could do nothing but look on in horror, holding tight to her son.

“Mother, I want to fight,” Henrik fussed.

_“No,”_ Emma said firmly, “I have lost so much already. I will not lose you, too, Henrik.”

* * *

 

Defeating the Christian soldiers was easier than Killian anticipated. Taking the General hostage would make for an excellent battle strategy, seeing how he was the King’s younger brother, as it turned out.

“What is your name, General?”

“Claudius.”

“And what do you think the King would do to get you back?”

“I’m certain he would do whatever it took.”

“Such as staying true to his word?” asked Killian, “You call us savages, yet we always keep our promises. What sort of King goes back on his word?”

Claudius swallowed nervously. “Please, spare me. If you let me go, I will ensure that George gives you what you want.”

“Will you, now? Because you are his brother?”

“Yes, of course,” said Claudius.

Killian held his axe before the General’s blood-stained face. “I don’t believe you, Claudius,” he said ominously.

* * *

 

When a horse with no rider came running up to the palace gates, dragging something behind it, the guards were quick to let it inside. They were horrified to find the bloody, bruised corpse of the General with the word _LIAR_ carved into his chest.

Less than an hour later, a second wagon full of wooden trunks was delivered and discarded, and this time, when the raiders went to search it, they were armed and much more cautious. Fortunately, the King kept his word this time around.

Killian grinned. “Perhaps I was too quick to deem the King a fraud,” he said, “It seems he has come through for us, after all. Well done, everyone.” He looked back at Emma with confliction in his eyes. “Even those who have made grave mistakes.”

Emma frowned, but said nothing. She stared past him and out into the distance, where she swore she saw a familiar brunette in a white dress, but when she blinked, the woman was gone. She smiled anyhow and clutched the crucifix hanging from her neck, for she knew in her heart that she had done the right thing.

* * *

As the King watched the raiders sail away on their strange ships, hatred burned in his cold eyes.

“What will you do now, Your Majesty?” asked one of the noblemen.

“I declare war on that savage, Killian, and all those like him,” the King said through clenched teeth, “I shall have my vengeance, if it is the last thing I do.”


End file.
